


The Perks and Perils of Fake Dating a Werewolf

by Bunnywest



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Mutual Pining, Scott is a Good Friend, Sort Of, Werewolf Courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 17:05:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18595663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: Stiles knows his dad's just trying to be supportive, but he can't take one more blind date. Peter helpfully offers a solution - 'date' someone for a few weeks, break up with them, and his dad will leave him in peace.He even has the perfect candidate.





	The Perks and Perils of Fake Dating a Werewolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Twisted_Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/gifts).



> A gift for Twisted_Mind, who needed some "ridiculous Steter shenanigans" to lift her mood. Well, it's certainly ridiculous...  
> Anyway.  
> I was frankly stunned to realise I'd never tackled Fake Dating, and I've set out out remedy that immediately.  
> This might be utter dross, because I wrote it in a day and side eyed it instead of editing it. As always, Future Me the Typo Fairy will deal with it later.  
> ETA- ooops! The sheriff has one name now guys, I fixed it!

 

Stiles throws himself across Derek’s couch, taking up the whole thing and ignoring Derek’s disapproving eyebrows. Sometimes a guy needs to sprawl when he’s wallowing, okay? He lets out a frustrated groan and continues his rant.

“I’m just so done this this. I mean, I get that he’s being supportive since I came out, but he just won’t _stop_. This is the sixth time in a month he’s tried to set me up on a date. We went out for dinner and when we got there Parrish was waiting. PARRISH! And Dad was all, _Stiles, did you know Jordan swings both ways as well? You two have always gotten on, oh look at the time_ , and then he fucking _left us there_ , fucking grinning like he’d pulled off the greatest stunt of all time.”

Scott nods along. “So, how was it? The date I mean?”

Stiles pulls himself upright long enough to glare at Scott before flopping back onto the couch. “ _There was no date, Scott_.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “I told dad it didn’t work out, and I swear to god he gave me those big sad eyes of his and said, _‘Is it the age thing, son? Because there’s nothing wrong with dating someone older’_ and then I had to listen to him tell me about how the five year age gap doesn’t bother him and Melissa any. The worst thing is, I can’t see him stopping anytime soon. I think he feels guilty because he’s dating and I’m not.”

“You need a boyfriend.” Peter’s voice close by makes Stiles startle, and he slides halfway off the couch before recovering. Peter smirks from where he’s standing just behind the couch. Stiles scrambles to a sitting position and shoots Peter a filthy look. “Thank you, resident genius. I never would have thought of that.”

Peter slides into place next to him on the couch, and takes Stiles’s jaw in his fingertips, turning his head and staring at him intently as he speaks very slowly. “You need a _fake_ boyfriend, Stiles. Someone to keep your father at bay.”

Stiles blinks, distracted by the warm fingertips on his face, the smell of Peter’s bodywash and well, all of Peter, really. “Fake boyfriend,” he repeats dumbly.

Peter nods, a tiny smile quirking his lips. “Exactly. Find some willing soul to pretend to date you, and after a month or so have a tragic breakup and tell the sheriff that you don’t think you can be with anyone for a while.” Peter takes his hand away from Stiles’s face and Stiles has to fight the urge to lean in and chase more contact. So sue him, Peter’s hot - for an asshole. It almost as if Peter knows, because his lips twitch up a little further. “I’m sure you could find a volunteer.”

Scott clears his throat. “I guess I could – “

 _“NO!”_   Stiles and Peter cry in tandem, and both let out a shudder, though for different reasons. Scott turns away, obviously offended. “Sorry Scott, he’d never buy it. You’re the straightest guy alive,” Stiles offers.

Scott relaxes the tiniest bit. “I guess.”

Stiles looks over at Derek hopefully, but before he can open his mouth Derek is already shaking his head, arms firmly folded across his chest. “Nope. Leave me out of this.”

Stiles slumps in his seat. It had been such a good idea, too. “Welp. That’s that then.”

He lifts his head to find Peter eyeing him speculatively. “I could do it. I’m perfect.”

Stiles snorts. “Please. Like he’d believe I’m dating someone fifteen years older.”

Peter shrugs. “I’m quite the catch, I’ll have you know. I can assure you Stiles, if I take you out, it will be a lesson in how dating should be done. Nobody will doubt it for a second.”  He flutters his lashes and blows Stiles a kiss. “The offer’s there if you change your mind, sweetheart.”

Stiles chokes on air, and Peter gives him a shit eating grin. Asshole.  “Yeah, I think I’ll pass, thanks _.” Are you sure?_ his brain whispers. Stiles kicks his brain in the metaphorical shins and tells it to shut the hell up. Peter gets up and wanders off into the kitchen, and Stiles tries not to mourn the loss of eye candy too hard.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles jabs at his cereal with his spoon and tries to ignore his dad.  It doesn’t work. “I’m just saying, Jordan’s a nice guy. You should give him another chance.” Stiles chances a quick look and groans when he sees his father’s hopeful, almost eager, expression.

“Dad, I’m not dating a hellhound, and I’m definitely not dating your deputy.”

John reaches over and ruffles a hand through Stiles hair like he did when he was a little kid. “Fine. We’ll find you someone else.” And when Stiles takes in the expectant look on his father’s face, combined with the use of the word ‘we’, he’s struck with the sudden realization that this just. Isn’t. Going. To stop. At least until he actually goes on a damn date.

He’s not sure what comes over him, but the next thing he knows he opens his mouth and blurts out, “Actually, I have a boyfriend, so you don’t need to worry about it, ‘kay? Kay. Good talk.”  All the while, a voice in his head is screaming for him to STOP TALKING  but hell, he’s never listened to it anytime in the last twenty one years, why would he start now?

His father raises a cynical eyebrow. “Bullshit.”

Stiles clasps a hand to his chest. “Excuse me? Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

“Not for a damn minute. You spend all your time at work or with werewolves. You don’t have time to date, unless it’s one of the pack.” John looks far too pleased with his deductions. And hey, he’s totally right, but he doesn’t have to be so smug about it. Maybe it’s his tiny _gotcha_ smile that prompts what Stiles says next.  

“It is one of the pack. It’s Peter.” Stiles takes a moment to glory in his father’s stunned expression before John turns a fierce glare on him and it occurs to Stiles that maybe he could have approached this better.

“Peter? Previously out of control, murderous psychopath killer Peter?”

“He’s much better now,” Stiles offers weakly.

“Uh huh. When were you planning on telling me about this?”

“He only asked me last night. You were asleep when I came home and I wasn’t gonna wake you.” Stiles says, aiming for convincing.

John cocks a brow. “Last night, huh?”

“Yep. We’re going on our first date on the weekend.” Stiles plasters an excited smile on his face and hopes to hell it looks genuine.  

“Where are you going?”

“It’s a surprise. Peter said he was going to take me out and show me a good time – _not like that_ , stop looking at me like that. He said he was going to how me how dating should be done,” Stiles babbles.

It must pass muster, because his Dad just says, “Huh. Well if he tries anything out of line, let me know.” He still looks skeptical, but less so than before. Stiles takes it as a win and hurries out the door to work before he gets asked any more awkward questions.

 He sits in the driver’s seat and dials Peter’s number.  He hopes Peter meant it when he volunteered. It occurs to Stiles that he’s probably going to have to bribe Peter for this.  A lot. Peter picks up after three rings. ”Stiles?” His voice is grizzled with sleep and unfairly sexy.

Stiles reminds himself to focus. “Hey. Sooo, you know the thing we talked about, where I said no thanks?”

Peter makes an interested noise. “Let me guess, in a fit of panic and frustration you told your father we’re dating, and now you want me to play along?”

“Yeah. It just kinda came out over breakfast. I told him you asked me out last night.”

“Good boy, “Peter says approvingly. “The best lies always contain a kernel of  truth. Leave it with me.”

And then he hangs up, leaving Stiles staring at his phone.

_Leave it with me?_

What the hell does that mean?

 

* * *

 

 

What that means, apparently is arranging for a monster gift basket and giant stuffed bear to be delivered to Stiles’s workplace.

The girl working the front desk at Beacon Savings and Loan takes the delivery, and Stiles doesn’t pay much attention, to be honest. Jacinta in home loans is always getting stuff from her latest squeeze.  But he looks up from his screen when he hears  “Stiles has an admirer!” to find the basket perched on his desk.  Suddenly the three other loans officers are crowding around his desk and giggling. One of them plucks the card from where it was wedged in the hands on the frankly hideous bear. “I couldn’t _bear_ to spend the day without telling you I miss you,” she reads out in a falsetto, and the girls all go _woooooooo_ while Stiles blushes to the very roots of his hair.

She turns the card over. “Can’t wait to see you, gorgeous boy.  Free tonight? PH” she reads out, eliciting another wooooo and a wink from Jacinta.

Stiles doesn’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed. As far as getting it out there that Stiles is dating, it’s a killer move. But the bear’s seriously ugly. One of its eyes is set slightly askew, making it look like an extremely cuddly serial killer. He knows his dad will have heard about it before lunchtime, given that he works with a pack of terrible gossips. Sure enough, Jacinta’s already snapping a photo and asking, “Does your dad know you have a girlfriend?”

Stiles eyes up the contents of the basket. Expensive handmade chocolates – Peter’s got taste, he’ll give him that. He decides to roll with it. “Boyfriend, actually. And yes. And if you promise to stop bugging me and let me get some work done, you can share the chocolates.”

“Deal.” The basket’s whisked off his desk and into the tea room before Stiles can blink, and he’s left under the baleful gaze of the bear.

He texts Peter on his break. “Thx for the gift basket. That bear’s creepy AF. Could you have been any more ridiculous?”

He gets back. “I could have, but I like to ease into these things.”

That’s not worrying _at all_.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter turns up on his doorstep half an hour after Stiles gets home, holding a bouquet of roses. Stiles opens the door to see Peter grinning smugly round the armful of flowers. “You never said if you were free, but I couldn’t wait to see you.” With that, Peter barges in before Stiles can even invite him, thrusting the roses into his hands.

“Yeah, sure, come on in, I’m totally available,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes.

Peter looks him up and down, and Stiles is suddenly aware that he’s still wearing his work clothes, a smart button down and dress pants. “You look like a different person when you make an effort, Stiles,” Peter observes, and Stiles has to take a minute to figure out if that’s a compliment or not. Probably not, he decides, because Peter.

Still. His dad’s watching from the corner of the room, so he says, “Thanks. The bank won’t let me wear jeans, so.” He gestures to himself and shrugs.

“Well I’m grateful to them. Those pants are extremely flattering.” Peter doesn’t even try to hide the fact he’s ogling Stiles’s ass, going so far as to place a hand on Stiles’s shoulder and spin him for a better look. Stiles tries not to think about how nice that firm hand on his shoulder feels, and how much he enjoys Peter moving him around like he weighs nothing.

The sheriff chooses that moment to clear his throat loudly. “So, gonna introduce me to your ‘boyfriend’ properly, Stiles?” Stiles can _hear_ the air quotes there.

“Dad, you know Peter already,” Stiles huffs out.

“Only officially,” John growls out.

“Sheriff, so nice to see you again,” Peter says, stepping forward and extending a hand. “It must be, oh, four, five years?”  Stiles has to admire the way that Peter subtly reminds his father of how long ago that whole shitshow was.

“Keeping out of trouble, Hale?” John shakes Peter’s hand, but it’s a perfunctory thing, barely polite.

“For a long time now, John.” Peter doesn’t appear fazed by his dad's lack of manners, instead transferring his attention to Stiles. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me for dinner, sweetheart?” he purrs, all seduction and promise, and damn if it doesn’t make Stiles want him. If the amused gleam in Peter’s eye is anything to go by, he knows exactly the effect he’s having.

Fucking werewolves and their super senses.

“Um, sure, yeah,” Stiles stammers out.  He finds himself being guided outside with Peter’s arm hooked into his, and he waves his dad a half hearted goodbye as they walk out the door.

He stops dead when he sees what’s parked in front of the house. “Is that a –“

Peter preens as Stiles runs a hand over the sleek sports car. “It is. A Shelby Cobra 1000. I keep it for special occasions, like first dates with beautiful boys.”

“You can stop now, he’s not listening,” Stiles says, blushing despite himself.

“Oh, no. If we’re fake dating, we’re doing it right. It’s all or nothing.” Peter opens the passenger door for Stiles with a sweep of his arm. ‘Your carriage awaits, sweet prince.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Stiles mutters as he climbs into the car and falls a little bit in love with it. Peter just gives him a wicked smirk before starting the engine.

 

* * *

 

 

Dinner’s actually a good time. Peter really does go all out, touching Stiles’s hand over the table, spoon feeding him dessert, flirting outrageously every time someone’s in earshot and even when they aren’t. Stiles gets into the spirit of the thing, teasing Peter about his bulging muscles and chiselled jaw, and how attractive Stiles finds him. Peter quirks a brow at that. “Interesting.”

“Huh? What is?” Stiles asks through a mouth full of double fudge brownie.

“You know, your heartbeat never sped up at all just then. You find me attractive.” Peter gets a thoughtful expression, like he’s just discovered something particularly fascinating.

“Well, duh. You’re objectively hot. That’s not news. You’re still a smug bastard, though.”

Peter shrugs. “I can live with it.”

As the meal comes to an end, Stiles finds that he’s reluctant for the night out (not a date, he reminds himself) to be over. “So, um. Do you have, like a fake wooing plan?” he asks, in an effort to stretch the evening a little longer.

“Oh, I definitely have a plan.”

“You wanna tell me what it is?” Stiles can’t help staring. Peter’s eyes have no right to sparkle so beautifully when he smiles – it’s fucking unfair, okay?

“You know, I don’t think I will. Where would be the fun in that?” Peter’s grin widens just a little. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

“Fiiine. But no more ugly bears at work,” Stiles grumbles.

“Cross my heart. No more bears.” Peter reaches out his hand and links fingers with Stiles, sending a shiver down his spine, and Stiles tries to ignore how much he likes it. His dad might actually be right – he probably needs to get himself a real boyfriend, if this is how he’s going to react to the slightest touch.    “Shall we? It’s getting late.” It’s only then that Stiles notices they’re the only ones left in the place, and the staff are hovering politely in that way that means they’re waiting to lock up.

“Oh! Yeah, we’d better go.” Peter insists on paying, and he holds Stiles’s hand as they walk to the car, which is sweet and completely un-Peter like. Stiles can only marvel at Peter’s commitment to this whole thing. They drive home in near silence, Stiles making the most of the ride. When Peter parks the car, he’s quick to get out and open Stiles’s door, leaning in close as Stiles exits the vehicle. “We have an audience,” he murmurs, and sure enough, Stiles sees the curtains twitch in the front windows. He takes a moment to wonder how, exactly, his father’s managed to make it in law enforcement when he’s so damned obvious.

But then he’s distracted by Peter standing close, too close, his body a scant inch away from Stiles. “We’d better give him something to look at don’t you think, sweet boy? We want this to look real, after all,” Peter murmurs in his ear, and before Stiles can figure out what he means, Peter’s lips are pressed against his in a tiny, chaste kiss that’s over almost as soon as it begins. Stiles lets out a tiny sound of surprise, and Peter smirks at him.

Stiles is still speechless as Peter leads him to the door. “I had a lovely time tonight, sweetheart. May I see you again?” Peter asks, strangely formal.

Stiles is just stammering out a “Yes please,” when the door swings open. His dad’s standing there watching, a curious expression on his face like he’s not quite sure of what he’s seeing. It sparks something in Stiles, a desire to really sell this whole thing, and feeling bold, he cradles Peter’s face in his hands and gives him his own kiss. It’s longer than the one Peter gave him, soft and gentle. “I’d like that.”  

Stiles isn’t sure which he enjoys more, the stunned look on his father’s face or the one on Peter’s.

 

* * *

 

 

The next evening, Peter starts texting Stiles. Just silly little comments and jokes, observations on the couple in front of him at the coffee shop paying in small change, that sort of thing. About ten messages in, Stiles sends,

**Not that this isn’t nice, but what are you doing?**

_You’re at home, right?_

**And?**

_You’re probably sitting on the couch with your father watching you right now._

Sure enough, when Stiles glances over, John’s watching him.

**It’s creepy how you do that. What’s your point?**

_People text when they date, Stiles. It would be odd if I wasn’t messaging you. I’m hoping you’re at least smiling at your phone right now._

And yeah, Stiles realizes. He is, although he couldn’t tell you why.

**Like I said, creepy. So this is part of your dating schtick?**

_Sorry sweetheart, you don’t get to see my schtick till the third date at least, and then only if you ask me nicely._

Stiles snorts at that, and doesn’t try to cover his wide grin. John sees, and tilts his head at the phone. “Who you talking to, kid?”

“Peter. He’s being an idiot.”

John gives a small nod and goes back to watching TV, and Stiles shoots off a text.

_Dad literally just asked who I was texting. You didn’t sneak a hidden camera in here did you?_

**Please. Hidden cameras are for novices. I’m parked out front, listening to your heartbeat and smelling your arousal.**

Stiles glances wildly around before his phone pings again.

**I’m kidding, Stiles.**

_Thank Christ, you nearly gave me a heart attack._

It takes a moment before he gets back

**Does that mean I can give you mouth to mouth?**

That awakens a jolt of pure lust as Stiles’s mind is flooded with unbidden images of Peter leaning over him, mouth open, tongue peeking out, looking every inch the wolf as he prepares to devour him. His dick gives a twitch.

Fuck.

Stiles tosses his phone away from him as if somehow Peter will know what he’s thinking. Maybe that kiss last night was a bad idea, because now he knows what he’s missing. He ignores his phone as he tries to get himself under control and not fantasize about Peter kissing him stupid. When he thinks he’s managed it, he picks the phone up again, and sees a string of texts. His dad’s eyeing him curiously, so he takes his phone up to his room. That’s what couples do, right? Text each other in private so they can blush and squeal without an audience? Not that he’s planning on doing either, it’s more for the look of the thing.

Once he’s behind closed doors, he opens the messages

**8.45    Would you like that, Stiles?**

**8.46    Pinned under me while I kiss those lush, perfect lips of yours?**

**8.48    You really do have a pretty mouth.**

Stiles takes a deep, shaky breath at that. He wants to say _Tell me more_  and _You think I’m pretty?_  and _Kiss me again_ , but what he actually sends back is

_Slow your roll, buddy. Pretend, remember?_

It’s long minutes before he gets a reply.

**I told you, Stiles. I don’t plan to hold back. Now, would you like to hear exactly what I have planned for that mouth, or would you sooner wait till our next date and hear it in person?**

Stiles stifles a groan. There’s no good answer to that question, so he settles for

_Behave. I’m going to bed._

It’s mere seconds before he gets back a selfie of Peter blowing a kiss and a message

**Goodnight sweetheart. Dream of me, won’t you.**

Stiles pokes his tongue out at the phone. ‘Dream of me.” As if.

The worst part is, he does.

 

* * *

 

As promised, Peter takes him out on the weekend. He picks Stiles up in the sports car and they go dancing. Stiles is forced to contend with Peter dancing right up close to him, all sinuous rhythm and sinful hips and laughing eyes, and they barely even touch – just a hand on his shoulder, a light tap to his ass as they leave the dancefloor. It’s sexy as hell and fucking infuriating. By the time they leave Stiles is half hard and painfully aware that Peter probably knows it, but thankfully Peter doesn’t say anything, just grins like the cat that’s got the cream.  He drops Stiles off, and once again kisses him chastely before asking, “May I see you again?”

Stiles is pretty sure that even for fake dating he should be getting more action than he is, but obviously Peter’s just going to be a giant dick about this and tease him to death. Not that Stiles actually expects anything from Peter, because that would be weird and creepy when they both know it’s a façade, but that doesn’t stop his cock from chubbing up at the thought of it, treacherous little bastard that it is.

On Sunday, they don’t go _out – out_ , as Peter terms it, but he does turn up and offer to take both Stiles and John to the new pizza place the next town over. Stiles gives him the side eye, but as Peter quietly explains, “How can he see we’re dating if we’re never in the same room, sweetheart?”  Stiles has to concede he has a point.

They take Peter’s SUV, which isn’t nearly as much fun as the Cobra, but Stiles will admit it’s still pretty nice. He lets his dad ride shotgun, because some rules are immutable, and ‘parents get the front seat’ is one of them.

Stiles sits in the back and tunes out as he listens to Peter make small talk with his father, and he thinks distantly that damn, Peter should take up acting, because he’s really selling this whole eager attentive boyfriend thing. By the end of the half hour drive Stiles can sense his dad starting to warm to Peter, although to be fair, Peter probably had him at the mention of fresh pizza.

They settle into their booth, Stiles next to Peter and his dad opposite. Peter snuggles up just this side of too close for comfort, and Stiles makes the most of the warmth radiating off him, negating the chill in the air. Maybe not all werewolf powers are stupid – he could get behind this whole having a personal heater thing.

Then Peter slides a hand onto his thigh, causing Stiles to suppress a squawk. He disguises it as a cough and shoots Peter a dirty look, but Peter just smiles benignly and keeps stroking his thigh. It’s close enough to the knee that it’s a perfectly innocent sign of affection between a couple, it’s just that Stiles’s body obviously hates him, because it wants to press Peter back into the booth, climb in his lap, and rut against him like a dog. Wolf. Whatever.

In an effort to distract himself he turns his attention to the menu, and argues mildly with his father about how much bacon John’s allowed. (Stiles is gunning for none. John pleads for ‘just a little, kid.’) He’s just about gotten himself under control when Peter, with absolutely no warning, places their order in _perfect fucking Italian_. The woman taking the order’s face lights up, and she starts chattering at Peter rapid fire. He answers just as swiftly, making hand gestures and throwing his head back in a laugh, looking so damned sexy that Stiles is reduced to staring open mouthed. “You – you speak Italian,” he finally manages to croak out.

“Yes, I lived there for a year. Why, do you like that?” he asks in a low pitched tone that should be illegal. Stiles can feel himself blushing, and Peter must take that as an answer, because a slow smile spreads over his face. Then he abruptly turns to John, ignoring Stiles, and says, “I hope you don’t mind, Sheriff, but I doubled up on the bacon. I believe that indulging oneself now and again is good for the soul.”

Stiles opens his mouth to protest, but then the hand on his leg is moving again, creeping up with a slightly firmer touch, and Peter says, “Don’t you agree, sweetheart? A little of what you fancy does you good?” as his hand slips ever higher.

Stiles stiffens in his seat, and to his credit, Peter’s hand stills. “I gotta – bathroom,” Stiles blurts and bolts from the table. He takes a minute in the bathroom to splash cold water on his face and calm the fuck down, wondering what the hell’s wrong with him. This is an _act_ , a show so his dad will stop trying to set him up that’s all. He doesn’t even _like_ Peter.

He takes a couple of deep breaths, and when he walks back out, Peter and his dad are knee deep in a conversation about baseball, and they seem, for all intents and purposes to be getting along. It stays that way for the rest of the meal. The food is amazing, rough slabs of hand shaped crusty dough with a tangy sauce and the perfect amount of cheese, and enough bacon to keep even his father happy, with a side of fresh salad. Peter keeps his hands mostly to himself, apart from the odd gentle touch to Stiles’ shoulder or arm, and nobody mentions revenge killing sprees or Eichen House or werewolves at all.  Overall, Stiles thinks it’s gone pretty well, for a fake-dating-meet-the-parent dinner.

Peter drops them home, once again asking, “May I see you again, Stiles?” which makes his dad let out a weird-but-cute sigh.

As they walk inside, John comments, “He’s not the worst.” Coming from his dad, it’s a ringing endorsement.

Stiles texts Peter

_Old man likes you_

**That’s because I’m charming**

_You’re something, anyway._

**Brat**

_Creeperwolf_

**It’s nice that we have these pet names, don’t you think?**

_Goodnight, Peter._

 

* * *

 

Peter’s a man of his word, and doesn’t send Stiles any more bears. He does however, send the rest of the zoo, all accompanied by a variety of edible gift baskets.

On Monday it’s a cat, with a note saying, ‘You’re purrfect. PH’

Tuesdays’ a lion – ‘I’d be lion if I said I didn’t find you sexy. PH’

Wednesday’s an otter – “Be my significant otter? PH” (Stiles groans aloud at that one and throws the toy across the break room, much to the amusement of his workmates.)

On Thursday it’s a monkey with a very inappropriate message about climbing and trees that Stiles has to scramble to hide before anyone else sees it.

The rest of the bank staff are all curious, and they all wait to see what Friday brings. But there’s no delivery, and Stiles can’t help but feel a little disappointed. He’ll admit it, he was getting into pretending to have a hot boyfriend. He and Peter have texted every night this week, and gone out twice, both dates ending in a kiss on the doorstep.

Stiles is pretty sure that his dad’s convinced, and he tries to figure out how long he should leave it before he and Peter ‘break up.” Even thinking about it, his stomach gives an odd little twist, though why it should he has no idea.

Anyway, he thinks, maybe Peter’s already losing interest, given today’s lack of contact. It’s the first day he hasn’t heard from Peter since they started this, and it feel weird. He throws himself into his work, clearing his paperwork in time for the weekend, and once they’ve closed, he steps out into the brisk air with a sigh of relief. As he walks to the bank carpark he checks his phone, but there’s no message from Peter. Not that he cared. Much.

He’s interrupted in his musings by a pair of arms circling him from behind and a voice in his ear. “Miss me, sweet boy?”

He startles at the contact, would probably have jumped a foot in the air if it weren’t for Peter holding him in place. Peter chuckles, deep and rich and cozy. “Sorry baby, didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Pretty sure you did, because you’re a giant dick,” Stiles grouses, as he tries to will his heartbeat back into a normal rhythm.

“Hmmm,” Peter hums. “Maybe not giant. I’ll settle for generous.” He turns Stiles so they’re facing, and leans in for one of those infuriating kisses that lead nowhere.

As he pulls away,  Stiles can’t help but ask, “No toy today? The workmates think you’ve lost interest.”

Peter gets an amused expression on his face. “Actually, the opposite. Social mores require that as a good boyfriend, it’s my duty to surprise you at work and kiss you senseless in front of your colleagues.”  

Stiles snorts. “You’re kidding, right?”

Peter shakes his head. “Deadly serious. It’s a rule.” He tangles a hand in Stiles’s hair, pulling him slowly closer. When their lips are just inches apart he stops to ask, “Yes?”

Stiles doesn’t reply, just ducks forward, closing the distance between them. Their mouths clash awkwardly, but he doesn’t care. He tilts his head so the angle’s better, closes his eyes, and lets Peter do whatever the hell he wants, which at the moment seems to be trying to explore every inch of Stiles’s willing mouth. Peter’s making tiny, animalistic groans and growls, and Stiles can’t hep be turned on by it. To quote Steve Rogers, he could do this all day.

Or rather, he could if the rest of the staff didn’t kill the moment by whistling and calling out “You hit that, Stiles!” Inconsiderate bastards, the lot of them. Stiles knows he’s pouting when Peter pulls away, but Peter seems more amused by it than anything. He turns to the rest of the staff in the carpark and takes a bow.

Stiles lets out a startled laugh, lips still tingling pleasantly. “Ladies and gentlemen, my boyfriend,” he intones with a sweep of his arms. He gets a couple of whistles and  a thumbs up as the other staff drift into their cars once they realise the show’s over, and Stiles and Peter are left standing there alone.

Stiles maybe kinda hopes they can pick up where they left off, but Peter just stands there, hands in his pockets. “I’m parked around the corner, so I’d best go. Maybe I’ll see you later tonight?” he says, scuffing a shoe against the asphalt.

“Yeah. Tonight would be good. Couples and Friday nights, it’s a thing, right?”

“Exactly so. I’ll pick you up around eight.” For some reason, Stiles could swear Peter seems relieved. Something occurs to him as he watches Peter walk away.

“Peter?”

Peter stops mid stride, his back still to Stiles. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Thank you. For all this. The boyfriend thing.” He can’t help adding,”And just for the record, you’re one hell of a kisser.”

Stiles doesn’t need to see Peter’s face. He can hear the smirk in his voice when he replies “Trust me, Stiles. It’s my pleasure.” And as he watches him go Stiles notes that Peter’s walk has regained its swagger.  

Huh. Maybe Stiles should think of a way to thank him properly, if it has that effect.

 

* * *

 

 

They spend Friday night at the movies, and since they spot a couple of friends, it only seems sensible to sit in the back row and canoodle a little, just for appearance’s sake. Peter throws himself into the task so thoroughly that  Stiles couldn’t tell you what happened in the last half hour of the film.

He doesn’t mind much.

 

On Saturday they go hiking. Over breakfast, John snorts at the idea of Stiles voluntarily walking in the preserve without a monster chasing him, but Stiles dusts off his pride and his hiking boots and loftily informs his father that his boyfriend _likes_ hiking, and good relationships are about give and take, and by the way was that Melissa’s car he heard leaving at 5 am?  Upon which John suddenly finds the sports pages of the paper exceedingly interesting.

 

 

On Sunday afternoon Peter takes him out on the lake. The day’s unseasonably warm, one of those happy accidents that occur before the colder weather settles in for good, and Peter turns up with a picnic and the news that of _course_ he owns a boat. Of course he does, thinks Stiles, and tries not to be too distracted by the sight of Peter in shorts and a singlet, all tan and muscled and far too pretty to be allowed.

They cruise out to the middle of the lake and Peter drops anchor. He pulls them a couple of beers out of the cooler, and they spend a lazy hour or so just relaxing against the cushions, staring over the water and not saying much. Three beers in, Stiles has a mild buzz on, and decides that a swim would be a good idea. He stands without warning, strips off his shirt, and dives into the water, gasping at the freshness against his skin. When he pops his head above the surface a moment later, he’s just in time to see a splash where Peter’s hit the water as well.  It’s only a few seconds before Peter’s head breaks the surface, hair soaking wet and flat against his head. Stiles stifles a grin at the sight. It’s nothing like Peter’s normally perfect hairstyle, but it’s kind of cute. Stiles dogpaddles over to him. “It’s cold!” Peter complains, but it’s obvious from the grin on his face that he’s only doing it for show.

“Aaaw, poor thing. Swim around, you’ll soon warm up,” Stiles teases.

“Smartass.” Peter grabs him by the hips and pulls him close, and for a second Stiles thinks Peter’s going to kiss him, but instead he hoists Stiles out of the water and throws him backwards, sending him flying. Stiles squeals in surprise as he hits the water, but the next second he’s giggling like a kid, riding the adrenaline of unexpectedly flying through the air.

“Oh my god, do that again!” He paddles over to Peter, who laughs at his enthusiasm and throws him repeatedly until Stiles finally tires and clambers awkwardly over the side of the boat, laying on his back in the sunshine, perfectly content.  Peter joins him moments later, and they bask like lizards on a rock until Stiles’s stomach rumbles and they’re forced to move so they can have their picnic.

Stiles’s nose is pink from sunburn when Peter drops him home, and this time, after Peter gives him what Stiles thinks of as the “dad-kiss,”  Stiles says, ”Yes, you may see me again,” before Peter’s even asked.

 

* * *

 

 

They’ve been ‘dating’ for three weeks, and Stiles knows they should probably look at breaking it off, but he's ot thinking about it. Instead he’s sticking to his time honored tradition of ignoring a problem till it goes away.

The problem being this.

Maybe he does like Peter, a little. Maybe he’s come to appreciate his sarcasm and snap. Maybe he’ll miss it, when this is over. Maybe he doesn’t want it to be over at all. But he knows it’s only a matter of time before Peter tells him it’s time to pull the pin, and he’s just. Not. Ready.

So Stiles doesn’t mention it, and weirdly enough, neither does Peter. They continue to go out to dinner, go dancing, and spend time together. His father’s started calling Peter ‘son’ and actually patted him on the shoulder the other day, much to Peter’s discomfort and Stiles’s delight.

For their one month ‘anniversary', they go parking at the Lookout. Stiles pretends he can totally see Peter’s reasoning when Peter tells him that the deputies always roll through there on a Saturday night and it would be odd if they weren’t seen. Stiles also chooses to completely ignore that fact that most couples parked there are in high school, and there from necessity, because they don’t actually own a condo, Peter. Anyway, it’s kind of fun, making out in the tiny sports car, mainly necking because there’s not room for much else, and enjoying the thrill of potential discovery. It’s only slightly awkward when its Parrish in the patrol car, and really, compared to most of the couples up there, they’re practically _saints._ They still have their pants on and everything.

Stiles tries not to think too hard about the fact that high schoolers are currently getting more action than him.

 

* * *

 

 

The following day, Stiles is over at Scott’s, because it’s been weeks since they saw each other and he misses his bro. The cold weather’s set in so Stiles is burrowed deep in a hoodie when he arrives, but  as they watch  a movie and shoot the shit and drink beer, he starts to get warm, so he shrugs the hoodie off.

Scott goes still, staring at him. “Dude, what the hell?”

“What?” Stiles asks, distracted by Scott’s stupid remote that refuses to work.

“Your neck. That’s some serious stubble burn, man.” Scott points a finger accusingly. “Wait – are you and Peter finally for real dating?”

Stiles’s head whips around so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. “What? No! Jesus, Scott. We just went up to Makeout point last night, and he might have gotten carried away. Not _that_ carried away,” he adds, holding up  a finger when he sees Scott about to speak. “Just some making out. You know, _fake_ making out. To go with our _fake_ dating.”

Scott squints. “I dunno. Those look like some pretty real hickeys.”

Stiles hand travels up to where Peter has, indeed, left an impressive mark. “Scott, it’s an act. Any day now Peter will ask to break it off.” Stiles can feel his good mood crumbling at the very thought.

“So if its an act, why are you wearing Peter’s hoodie, and why do you reek of him?”

“Yeah, well.” Stiles pulls his hoodie back on, as if that will protect him from Scott’s gaze. ”Peter likes to put his scent on me okay? Makes it more authentic. So we snuggle up sometimes. And it’s totally working, too. Dad’s convinced we’re a couple.”

Scott shakes his head, and Stiles turtles down into his hoodie further when Scott gives him that one particular grin, the grin that means _“I just figured something out, and it doesn’t happen all that often, so  I’m gonna be a smug fucker while I tell you about it.”_

It’s a very specific look, okay?

“Stiles,” Scott says, grinning madly. “You _are_ a couple, numbnuts.”

Stiles’s head snaps up again. “You’re not funny, Scott.”

Scott tilts his head to the side. “ Okay, I’m gonna cut you some slack because you’re not a wolf and you don’t know some stuff, but I’m telling you, Peter’s interested. He’s courting you, idiot.”

Stiles waits for Scott to throw a cushion and tell him he’s just kidding, but his gaze is steady, and Stiles can’t help but feel a flicker of hope. Scott knows that he’s always been attracted to Peter, and Stiles is pretty sure he wouldn’t kid about this. Still, he has to check. “First off, enough with the name calling. And second, what stuff do you know? Since when do you know stuff I don’t?”

Scott’s grin just gets broader, and Stiles kinda wants to hit him. _“Werewolf_ _stuff_ ,” Scott says, making spooky fingers, and yep, Stiles definitely wants to hit him. Scott must catch his mood, because he takes a deep breath and starts counting off on his fingers. ”Let me guess. Every time you go out, he asks if he may see you again.” Stiles nods. “He never makes a move without consent.” Stiles nods again. “He’s scentmarking you, that much we know. Public statements of claim?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“Like?” Stiles isn’t even sure what that means.

“Sending you gifts, public touching and kissing, like…staking a claim in front of anyone who might be competition? That one’s a big deal, so think about it.”

Stiles bites his lip. “So, hypothetically, sending me gifts at work every day and them turning up just to make out in the car park in front of the workmates would count?”

Scott, the little shit, just grins wider. “I knew it! Was he squirrely afterwards?”

“Little bit, yeah. I just thought he was worried he’d overstepped.”

“And?” Scott encourages. “Did he?”

Stiles takes a minute to think about it. “No, actually. I was into it, I, um, maybe told him he was a hell of a kisser.”

Scott looks like he’s won the lottery. ”So you’ve been dating for a month, you make out regularly, he’s scentmarked you and laid public claim, and you’re _wearing his clothes._ Congratulations, buddy. You’re stealth dating a werewolf.”

“Am not,” Stiles snaps, just to have something to say. “Even if he’s done all that stuff, it’s probably just coincidental.”

“Sure. I mean, I’m sure Peter’s just _accidentally_ followed every rule of werewolf dating. He’s definitely not a sneaky asshole who would offer to be your fake boyfriend and then let it kinda slide into regular dating because he’s too proud to just ask you. Right?”

“Oh,” Stiles says quietly, because that does sound like something Peter would do. “I gotta go, Scotty.”

He stands and leaves without a backwards glance, and can hear Scott calling, “Just so you know, I totally called it!”

 

* * *

 

 

Peter takes forever to answer his phone, and as soon as he does Stiles blurts out “Scott says we’re werewolf dating, Are we?”

Peter snorts. “Scott’s an idiot.” Stiles feels a sharp stab of disappointment for just a second, before Peter continues, “But just occasionally, that boy’s too smart for his own good.”

“Sooo, is that a yes?” Stiles suddenly wishes he was having this conversation face to face.

Peter must feel the same, because he sighs and says, “It’s complicated. Shall I come over and we can talk?”

“Please.”

Stiles changes his shirt three times even as he tells himself that it’s fine, it’s just Peter. He brushes his teeth twice. By the time Peter knocks at the door, Stiles is a bundle of nerves. He knows its stupid, but doesn’t make the butterflies in his stomach any less real. Peter’s standing there, holding a bouquet of roses and smiling. Stiles notes that Peter’s also dressed slightly more tidily than his normal Sunday attire.  He takes the flowers with a smile and buries his face in the blooms to buy himself a few seconds. Finally he puts them in a vase, then goes and sits next to Peter on the couch, elbows resting on his knees as he leans forwards. “Is Scott right? Are we a couple?”

“Absolutely not,” Peter says without hesitation. Stiles’s stomach is suddenly lead, and he thinks he’s going to be sick. Scott was wrong. This isn’t a thing.

Peter regards him keenly. “If I did want to date you, I’d have the decency to ask you, but - ”

“Fine, right. Got it. Not a thing,” Stiles interrupts. “Can you just go?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Like I said, it’s complicated. If McIdiot hadn’t opened his mouth, I was actually planning to ask you out properly this evening.” He nods at the flowers. “Do they look like a breakup gift, sweetheart?”

Stiles’s head is spinning. “We’re not dating, but you’d like to, is that right?” he asks slowly, wanting to be sure. “What about the wolf stuff that Scott said-“

“Scott, while he wasn’t completely wrong, was also completely wrong,” Peter says.

“Well that’s helpful,” Stiles mutters.

Peter takes his hand. “It’s true that some of the things I’ve done are traditional werewolf courting behaviours, but I’m a werewolf.” He shrugs, a little helplessly. “It’s all I know how to do. There are steps to follow, and I followed them.”

“So, you weren’t trying to sneaky date me?”

“While I won’t deny I've enjoyed the fake dating enormously, I was fully aware it wasn’t real. But I thought that maybe, since we’re both having fun, and I seem to have fallen for you somewhere along the way, well.” He takes a deep breath. “I wonder, Stiles, if you might like to date me. Properly.”

Stiles is silent as he thinks it through. They weren’t dating. It wasn’t real.

But it could be.

Finally, he says, “Suppose we were to start dating properly. All that stuff, the kissing at work, the presents, the sports car, the texts, you’d do it all again?”

“In a heartbeat, sweetheart. I’m a wolf, and that's how you court when you’re a wolf. It’s what I know.”

Stiles thinks for a moment longer, before reaching up and taking Peter’s jaw in hand and looking him in the eyes. “Very important question. Vital, really. It all hangs on this answer.”

Peter nods solemnly.

“If we were for real dating, could we finally get our dicks out?”

All the air leaves Peter’s body in a rush as he breathes out, ”Yes. Gods, yes.”

 Stiles grins at the hungry expression on Peter's face.“Then I'm in. Now come here and give your boyfriend a kiss.”

 

* * *

 

 

John’s slightly puzzled by the sudden flood of gifts and Stiles’s brand new enthusiasm for his boyfriend, but he chalks it up to some werewolf thing – they certainly seem happy together, and that’s the main thing.

And when Stiles tells him he and Peter are heading away for a week long break together, John doesn’t give it too much thought. He’s too busy texting Melissa the good news that now that Stiles has a social life, he _finally_ has the house to himself. It’s taken long enough to get the kid out the door, and a man needs his privacy.

He wonders idly if it’s too soon for him to suggest the boys move in together.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This has been translated into Russian by [negative_one](https://archiveofourown.org/users/negative_one/profile).  
> [Russian translation](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8606716)


End file.
